Miles To Go Before I Sleep
by Crowned Sky
Summary: Exorcists were supposed to be God's chosen children, but what if she didn't want to be one of His chosen? What if she just wanted to be normal? Trapped in a life she can't escape, Lenalee finds respite in a curious clown she's meant to recruit, one who's got his own share of torment to deal with. AU
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I do not own D. Gray-man._

Prologue

 _Hangzhou, China_

 _August 19_ _th_ _, 1894_

"I want to go home."

The woman guiding her by the hand was unmoved by her plea. "Sometimes we have to put the wants of others before our own. You'll understand that soon enough, I'm sure."

Lenalee wasn't sure she would, given the circumstances. They had kept her in this strange facility with its dark hallways and cold rooms for two days now, never once explaining what she was doing there and why she couldn't see her brother. All they said was that she might be special and that they were merely going to see if that was true.

This would be the first time they'd let her leave her room. Initially, she had been relieved when the door had opened and a woman had appeared. But that relief had soon turned to unease when two figures shrouded in red cloaks followed, moving to stand on either side of her. When one of them had reached out to touch her, Lenalee had panicked and rushed to the woman's side, clinging to her leg and hiding her face against her thigh.

Trembling in fear, she hadn't noticed the woman speak until she'd placed a hand on the top of her hand and smoothed back a few wayward strands. The woman's once cold demeanor seemed to melt a bit, her face a little softer now that there was a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"It's going to be alright," she assured. "We're just here to escort you to a special room to perform a very important test. Do you think you can do that?"

Lenalee had nodded and taken the woman's hand when it was offered to her. Obediently she had followed, occasionally sending furtive glances over her shoulder to ensure that the cloaked figures were keeping a safe enough distance as they trailed after them like red phantoms.

"If I do well with the test, will you let me go home?" Lenalee asked, praying that that be the case. Her big brother must be really worried about her with how long she'd been away. The strange man hadn't even asked her brother if she could go with him when he had taken her and a bunch of the other village children with him.

The woman was silent for a moment, her expression unreadable in the poor lighting. "We'll see . . ."

No more words were shared between them and now only the sounds of their footsteps filled the silence. With each passing minute Lenalee grew anxious, wishing her brother was here. The corridor they walked down didn't have any windows to gaze out of, only numerous doors with small plaques labelled with words in a language she couldn't read. She wondered what they all said.

After what felt like an eternity of walking down a seemingly never ending hallway, they stopped before a door with a large glass panel to the left of it where a number of men and women in white coats similar to the one her guide wore stood loitering about with clipboards in hand. They all turned at their arrival, voices rising as they began conversing in a language that Lenalee didn't understand. Some of them were smiling as they spoke while others seemed wary and their tones harsh. There seemed to be some kind of argument going on from the look of things, but of what and why remained a mystery to her.

She was distracted from the group speaking their strange words when the woman pulled her hand free from Lenalee's, taking a step back. Her face had lost any trace of warmth there may have once been, becoming a cold mask of indifference once more.

"Just relax and try not to fight it. It'll all be over quickly if you don't resist."

"What—"

Cold hands clamped down on her arms, their vice-like grips painful as they tightened their hold. Lenalee peered up to see the two cloaked figures hovering over her, each with a pale hand wrapped around one of her biceps.

Terror took ahold of her heart as they led her through the now open door, forced to drag her forward when she refused to cooperate. The light inside was blinding with its brightness, the sudden switch from the dim hallway to the lit room almost too painful to bear.

When her eyes finally adjusted, she almost wished they hadn't.

All along the floor laid the smoking remains of what could only be human bodies, each naked form riddled with sprouting wings and all missing both legs below the knee. At the center of the room sat a pair of strange objects that vaguely resembled a set of shoes with large wings at the heels and covered almost entirely with strangely marked paper.

The smell of burnt flesh caused her stomach to churn violently and she soon vomited all over herself. When there was nothing left for her to retch up, her gags turned to sobs.

Desperately she tried pleading with them, begging to be sent home to her brother. He needed her. She was all he had left. Please. Please don't do this.

They dragged her over to where a pair of chains hung from the ceiling, lifting her up with ease and latching each cuff around her wrists. When they let her go, the sudden shift of weight to her shoulders sent a wave of pain through her arms and she accidently bit her tongue in her distress. She tried so desperately to get her feet to touch the ground, to get her toes to support her and alieve the pain that burned beneath her skin and pulled at her muscles but she was just _too short._

 _Brother always liked teasing me for being so short. . ._

She tried squirming in her chains, but that only brought more pain so she soon stopped and tried staying as still as possible. The chamber of death rang with her sobs, her words too garbled to be made out as she hiccupped and gasped.

"Commence the trial with subject No. 14," a voice crackled from a nearby speaker.

One of the red phantoms stepped back while the other moved forward, the two positioning themselves on opposite sides of the room before pulling out a deck of paper talismans. With a simple gesture, the entire perimeter was lined with them and the air buzzed with a strange energy that only added to Lenalee's fear.

"Help me, big brother!" she cried. "Save me, please!"

The collection of papers clinging to the pair of strange shoes fell away in one simple motion. They hadn't even hit the floor yet when a beam of light shot towards her at blinding speed. It hit her legs with surprising force, crashing into her ankles and crawling up her calves. When it reached her knees, the light came to a halt and coalesced into the winged shoes.

A pressure started building up along her legs, like something was squeezing them too tight. It would not let up, continuing on until it was unbearable. That was when the pain came, starting at her toes and racing up her spine in a fiery trail as a new weight pulled, pulled, _pulled._

Lenalee screamed and screamed but her brother never came to save her.

* * *

 _A/N: Writing this was tough. I changed what I was writing twice before reaching what you see now. You might get to read what I originally wrote in future chapters if I feel they're good enough to be included. We'll see. I'll try to have the next chapter out in about a week or two. Please be patient._

 _This is for keneki055, who requested I do an AllenxLenalee fic. I hope this gets you interested._


	2. To Sleep

A/N: I do not own D. Gray-man

Ch. 1

 _London, England_

 _December 12, 1906_

The morning dawned with its usual unannounced arrival, painting over the night's deep purples with a softer palette of greys and blues, clouds replacing stars just as the sun replaces the moon. As night steadily transformed into day, the world awoke with a soft sigh. The singing of birds heralded the arrival of the new day, urging dreamers from their sleep to face what laid in store.

One such dreamer awoke feeling like she was walking into a fresh nightmare.

The muscles in her back ached as she sat up, exhaustion making the smallest effort feel exponentially taxing. Soft sobs had roused her from her tenuous slumber, the sound impossibly loud amidst the hustle and bustle of nurses attending to various patients.

With weary eyes Lenalee glanced to her partner, a man who was dying.

No one had said it, but it was an unspoken threat that hung in the air all the same. The entire staff knew it and yet they went about their work pretending otherwise. It was a kindness, really, a means to bide time. As soon as one of the doctors from Central made the usual rounds checking the state of the bed ridden patients and deemed Erik unsalvageable, it would be over. He would be put down.

They had made it back to the Order late last night two days ahead of their scheduled arrival after being ambushed by a group of akuma. Caught by surprised, the fight had been brutal. They had lost two Finders from their team and Lenalee had had a near hit with a blood virus bullet. When she had spun out of the way, the large bullet had struck the building they had been staying at. The resulting concussive blast had caught Erik unawares and he had soon been buried beneath the rubble.

When the battle had been won, she had found him with a two-foot-long pipe lodged in his stomach. He fought and cried when they had pinned him down to pull it out and the eruption of blood was something Lenalee was likely never to forget anytime soon. They had staunched the wound as best as they could, stuffing it with fistfuls of gauze and tying his own coat around his waist to apply pressure, but none of them had any experience dealing with such injuries.

Their only hope had been to rush back to headquarters. None of them had slept the three days they had spent travelling back to London with a steadily worsening Erik slowing them done. He had gotten so delirious with blood loss by the second day that they had been forced to seek aid at the nearest clinic.

The man had taken one look at the wound and had shaken his head. "You should have come to me yesterday."

In the back of her head, Lenalee had known that gentle Erik, with his lovely singing voice and slow smile, had been doomed the moment they had found him with that pipe speared through his gut, but to hear it aloud left her feeling numb inside. They hadn't been fast enough, the wound was grievous, the infection had already started to spread to his small intestine, the list of excuses went on and on. Slowly, painfully, Erik was dying and there was no way to save him.

He hadn't understood that until they had made it back to the Order and the nurses had examined him.

"You can fix it can't you?!" he wailed, thrashing against the restraints at his wrists and ankles. The erratic motions tore free the few stitches the town doctor had been persuaded to make, fresh blood flowing over his pallid skin. "Fix it! Fix it, please! You can fix it, yes?! Please!"

His normally slight Norwegian accent had overwhelmed his speech until he was shouting in the language itself, his panic stricken gaze darting all about the room before finally landing on Lenalee. The sheer terror in those crazed blue eyes had been her undoing.

She refused to leave his side as they administrated a few pain killers and a couple pints of blood, demanding that he not be sedated. If this was to be his last night, then he would spend it awake. Lenalee had wished she could've done the same, but the stress of the ordeal had been too much and as things had started to wind down, the light conversation that they had held between them hadn't been enough to chase away her fatigue.

"Sleep, my friend," Erik urged upon noticing the way she struggled to keep her eyes open. "I shall be here when you awake."

"I can't . . . Erik . . ."

"Yes you can," He tried his best to smile, to seem braver than he actually was but she could still see it, the dread, the fear. "Just close your eyes and I shall sing you a lullaby." He had started to sing before she could protest and it hadn't taken long for his dulcet tones to lull her to sleep.

Her sleep had thankfully been dreamless but painfully short, awakening two hours later to a dreaded dawn. His sobbing was nigh uncontrollable, though it never rose above a muffled gasp, carefully restrained as to not draw unwanted attention to himself. Not that that worked.

Everyone in the room was painfully aware of his imminent demise and were unable to fully look away. There was a sick fascination in waiting, an unshakable curiosity that rose as the clock ticked down and the end drew near. And relief, relief that this wasn't happening to them.

Lenalee hated them. She hated herself.

She hated herself for wanting to be anywhere but here. Hated how she couldn't muster up a single tear for her dear friend. Hated how annoyed she was beginning to feel having to listen to him continuously whimper and hiccup. The sound was awful. _She_ was awful.

"Hey now, it's alright," she crooned as she drew closer, taking his hand in both of her own and rubbing small circles over the rough calluses on his knuckles with her thumbs. "Hush, Erik, try to breathe . . ."

It took him a couple of tries before he was able to break through his shuddering sobs and gulp a huge breath. That seemed to bring him some measure of calm, his cries dying down to lesser sniffles and his tears drying on his flushed cheeks, though he still remained noticeably agitated.

"I'm sorry, Lenalee . . ." he moaned miserably, sniffing thickly through the snot that had leaked from his nostrils.

"Don't worry, you have nothing to apologize for," assured Lenalee. "Really, it's alright to be scared but . . ." She bit her lip, hesitating. Her next words would probably upset him, but they had to be said. "But at least it will be all over. You won't have to fight anymore."

The thought hadn't seemed to occur to him, and for a moment relief lit up his face with a new brilliance. "You're right," Erik replied, as if in awe at the thought. "No more worrying about getting the job done, of feeling bad when you fail or don't save someone, no more—" He stopped, his face crumpling as his sorrow returned. "No more friends. No more family. My grandma . . . she'll be all alone. I won't able to take care of her. She'll start to wonder why I'm not sending any money to her anymore. She'll wonder but will she know? Will she know that I've . . .? I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. . ."

Lenalee bowed her head and tightened her grip on his large hand, unable to bear the sight of his renewed panic. His words turned to a fevered babble that she was unable to snap him out of. When the doctor came almost an hour later, he began to panic.

"No!" he howled, struggling against the restraints. "I'm alright, I can still fight! Yes. Yes, I can still fight, you just have to fix me. Fix me and I'll do whatever you want, I won't question orders anymore. I'll be good, I swear! Please! PLEASE!"

Erik became an animal before her eyes. Her sweet, gentle partner of two years had become something else in the face of death. His back arched off the bed, his face turning a queer shade of purple as he screamed and screamed and screamed. He thrashed wildly as the doctor drew near like an uncaring specter with the hypodermic needle meant to put him to sleep, muscles straining in his arms and neck as he fought until the bitter end.

When the drug was administered intravenously through the main artery in his neck after the nurses had strapped Erik's head down, his screams elevated to an inhuman screech that rung painfully in Lenalee's ears. The high note never seemed to end even as the needle was removed, but it tapered off suddenly after a minute and became a garbled wail.

Slowly the tension fled from his muscles and his body sagged back down onto the soiled mattress. His tears still ran down the sides of his face but he was no longer openly sobbing.

"So tired . . ." he drawled, words slurring as the drug took its hold.

Lenalee stroked his damp brow and smoothed back his tousled blonde hair drenched in sweat. "Go to sleep Erik," she whispered, caressing a bearded cheek.

With a heavy sigh, Erik closed his eyes and drifted away.

Lenalee watched as his chest rose and fell its last breath before rising from her chair to plant a kiss on Erik's forehead. "Good night . . ." She lingered only long enough to memorize his face, a face she had seen too many times to count. A face that she had taken for granted.

She fled from him after that, keeping her pace subdued and calm as she left the hospital room. As soon as those double doors closed behind her, Lenalee felt her knees begin to buckle while a sob rattled painfully in her chest. She braced herself against the wall and choked back the cry, wishing that she felt nothing.

This had been her fourth partner in twelve years to be euthanized.

The first time it had happened, she had been nine and her partner had been Aaja Rajan, an Indian woman thrice her age who had broken her back after a terrible fall. She could still remember the screams, from both Aaja and herself, as they put a bullet through the woman's skull. It had happened so fast that it had taken Lenalee a few minutes to comprehend that Aaja was dead. That they had killed her. She couldn't recall what happened next, even to this day, only that it had resulted in her being confined to her room for an entire week.

Oscar Browne came next once he lost both his arms when she was twelve, and Jung Shin followed four years later from a terrible illness they couldn't cure. Now Erik Christensen was yet another ghost meant to cling to her conscious and haunt her soul.

Each time she lost someone, Lenalee had become progressively less sensitive to the pain but that didn't spare her from feeling the blow of losing yet another partner, another friend. She forced herself to recite their names every night just so that she wouldn't forget them even when she had started to forget their faces.

Aaja, Oscar, Jung, Erik . . . all just names that would be forgotten in history. No one would remember the fallen, those that had played no part in bringing this holy war to an end. Would history forget her as well? Will she become a nameless casualty only mourned for a year and then soon forgotten?

Everything felt far away all the sudden. It felt as though someone had stuffed cotton in her ears and the sounds of her own breaths seemed like they were coming from someone else. The walls and floor were spinning, spinning so that the walls became the floor and the floor became the walls.

It was getting harder to breath, like there was a weight pressing down on her chest. Her body felt heavier than usual, her legs like unmovable blocks of steel. Color bled away until she was blinded by white nothingness. She couldn't see, could breathe no matter how hard she tried. Her heart hammered away in a painful rhythm as panic set in. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe! She couldn't—

In the middle of the deserted hallway Lenalee collapsed.

* * *

 _London, England_

 _November 2, 1894_

The Black Order was to be her new home for now on, a fact that she loathed.

It had taken their party over two months of travelling to finally make it to the Order's main branch. According to her translator, she was meant to be examined to see how compatible she was with the Dark Boots and be assigned to a General for training.

Lenalee had spent the entire boat ride through the building's underground canal in sullen silence, begrudging Zhen's every attempt of striking up a conversation with her. He was the only one out of the group that knew what she said but he might as well not have understood a word like the rest of them considering how he always deflected her requests to be brought back home. Her real home, not this gothic spire with its stone walls and too many floors.

A man was waiting for them when they made it to the dock, his rigid figure bathed in the yellow light of the lanterns. His expression was hard, like it had been chiseled out of the very same stone that made up the Black Order's grey exterior. He regarded them with a shrewd intensity, his cold stare lingering on her the longest.

"Is this the accommodator?" he asked. Much to her surprise, the words had been spoken in near fluent Chinese, which was odd coming from a man with western features.

Zhen nodded, his face suddenly looking very sad. "Her name's Lena—"

"Her name is of no importance to me," the man cut in. "I've been ordered to escort her to Hevlaska. Your services will no longer be necessary here. Chief Callahan gives her thanks for your continued service and has ordered you back to the Asian Branch until further notice."

He seemed to deflate at the command before he turned to Lenalee and mustered up a small smile. "I guess this is where we part ways," chuckled Zhen as he mussed up her hair with a fond pat.

"Take me with you!" she pleaded in a last ditch effort to convince the man. "Please, I want to go home!"

"I'm sorry, but I can't. This is where you belong now."

The fact that he seemed genuinely regretful made it all the worse.

Angry tears burned in her eyes as she looked away with a dissatisfied huff. In a low voice she muttered under her breath, "I hate you . . ."

Zhen removed his hand from atop her head, scratching nervously at the back of his neck and smiling ruefully. "I know."

The western man who could speak Chinese offered his hand to help her out of the boat. She took it reluctantly, aware that there was no other choice. Going with the man willingly was far more appealing than being forced to follow.

As soon as her feet had touched the ground, the man had yanked his hand free and pulled out the pocket square in his waistcoat to remove his glove. He tucked them both in one pocket and produced a new glove from the other, slipping it onto his naked hand with a minute nod of his head.

Lenalee had watched with open-mouth confusion, his behavior seemingly absurd. Her hands weren't dirty, so why had he done that?

"All Finders are to escort Mr. Wong back before returning to their posts." He turned to scrutinize her for a second before commanding, "Come."

She trailed after him dutifully, looking back only once to see Zhen and the three Finders depart. Zhen had noticed her staring and sent her off with a wave. She turned away quickly, biting down hard to keep from crying out aloud. As much as the man frustrated her, a small part of her was going to miss him.

The western man led her down the hallway to an elevator that stood clearly lit with a set of lamps mounted on either side of the gate. With the press of a button the gate contracted, unoiled hinges screeching lowly as they were given entrance. Lenalee admired the contraption as they stepped inside, amazed by the sight of what could only be a human-sized bird cage. The gate closed behind them after another button was pressed and the cage slowly started its decent down.

Lenalee yelped in surprise at the sudden motion, clinging to the man's leg for balance. He shook her away with a disgusted sneer, his hand flying to strike her across the cheek.

"Don't touch me, you miserable brat!" he snapped shrilly. "Accommodators your age are useless, good-for-nothing creatures who never amount to anything as Exorcists. The Order would do well to put every child they found down instead of pouring all of their research into finding some that are compatible. All of it is just a waste of time better spent on winning the Great War with accommodators who are adults and not a bunch of sniveling children!"

Lenalee recoiled away from his harsh words with a pained whimper, skirting over to a corner to nurse her throbbing cheek. A few stray tears fell from her eyelashes, leaving wet trails down her face. She decided right then that she hated this man too.

The entire time spent in the elevator felt like agony, the atmosphere riddled with tension even as the man removed both his gloves, straightened his tie, adjusted his glasses, and resumed staring passively forward. It was practically a relief when gate opened up to a catwalk shrouded in darkness. Lenalee left the relative safety of the elevator to venture out into the unknown, willing to do anything to be rid of this foul man.

To her immense grievance he followed after her, his measured steps contrasting her frantic skips. She broke into a dead sprint, not caring where this walkway led, not caring if she ran right off the edge. She just wanted to get away. Away from the western man and his belligerent tones, away from Zhen and his cowardice, away from Twi and her false kindness, away from everything.

Lenalee just wanted to go home.

" _Slow down . . . young one . . ."_

The voice erupted from the darkness unexpectedly, the woman's words a slow drawl that bounced off the walls and trailed away as echoing whispers. Lenalee skidded to a halt when a faint light blossomed from the shadows, growing brighter by the second. In the span of a second a large creature rose above the catwalk, curling over the railing to lean in close.

It was a monster, a hulking thing that was terrifyingly beautiful.

It loomed down towards her, ethereal strands of hair woven together to create long tendrils with little hands on the ends outstretched and beseeching as they drew ever nearer. It's face, a woman's face, was half shrouded by those tendrils and bore a placid expression. Lenalee wondered if it could tell how frightened she was.

Immobilized by fear, Lenalee forgot how to scream as those tiny hands began to touch along her face and arms. It felt as though her heart jumped in her throat when those wispy tendrils wrapped around her waist and held her aloft. She was brought up to meet its face as it seemed to regard her with vaguely human interest.

" _Calm yourself . . . no need . . . to be frightened . . ."_

Lenalee wished that she wasn't, but how could she not when this strange creature with its snake-like, bioluminescent body and woman's face had taken ahold of her. She wanted to scream, to fight . . . yes, fight! She could use the Dark Boots to fight!

" _Don't . . . you'll only hurt . . . yourself . . ."_

This time Lenalee really did scream. How was this _thing_ reading her thoughts?

" _Through the Innocence . . ."_ it answered with its wispy voice. _"I need to . . . access your synchronization rate . . . it will be . . . painless . . . Are you . . . alright . . . with me doing that . . .?"_

The question baffled Lenalee. No one from the Black Order had every asked for her permission to do anything, certainly not for any of their tests. She almost didn't know what to say.

Hesitantly she asked, "I-It won't hurt?"

" _It won't . . ."_

"Promise?"

" _I promise . . ."_

With a tinge of uncertainty, she gave her consent and screwed her eyes shut when more of those white tendrils crept up to her. A queer sensation began to crawl beneath the surface of her skin with their touch, most of it traveling down her legs, but it wasn't wholly unpleasant.

" _2% . . . 7% . . . 12% . . . 15% . . . 21% . . ."_

Its voice trailed off with a thoughtful hum as it carefully set her down. _"Thank you . . . for your cooperation . . . I'm sorry . . . I scared you . . . My name is . . . Hevlaska . . ."_

Lenalee gaped up at Hevlaska, at a loss for words until she remembered her manners and introduced herself.

" _It is . . . very nice to . . . meet you . . . Welcome to the . . . Black Order . . ."_

The low twang of something tapping upon the metal walkway caught her attention and from the light emitting of off Hevlaska's leviathan body she was able to make out the stooped form of an old woman approaching them. The man that had brought her here was trailing after her like some aristocratic guard dog, staying within reach should she be in need of his aid.

"21% . . . that's not the best I've seen from new recruits, but accommodators have been brought here with far less. Some have even lasted for over five years while those who think they're the hot stuff just because they have higher synchro rates don't even make it past a year. I wonder which one you'll be. Will you endure as your power grows or simply burn out at your peak?"

The old woman stopped just a foot from Lenalee. She was not very tall and her bent back made it seemed like she was only a little taller than Lenalee was herself. Gripped between her gnarled hands was a cane crafted from birch with a beaded rosary necklace wrapped around the top. Her face was heavily lined and sagging with age, her hair a powder white braid pulled back in a bun. Only her eyes remained lively while the rest of her had already begun to wither away, her sharp green stare commanding attention.

"I am Chief Alice Callahan," she introduced with a slight bow of her head. "From this day forth you shall be an Exorcist of the Black Order, willing to live and die as one of the Lord's chosen soldiers. I hope you're up for the task."

Lenalee wasn't. She was far from it. But it wasn't like she was going to be given a choice.

"Now come," beckoned Alice. "There are still a few matters we must settle before you will be brought to your room to rest from your travels."

Obediently she followed after giving a stammering goodbye to Hevlaska, keeping her gaze focused on the ground while she walked. Chief Callahan continued to ramble, speaking of how it was a privilege to be an Exorcist and how accommodators were rare and best trained at a young age, the younger the better, when her words suddenly started sounding like gibberish.

The old woman continued to speak, none the wiser to Lenalee's incomprehension until she asked a question. She looked to Lenalee expectantly and scowled in annoyance as she noticed her wide eyed stare of confusion.

"Were out of Hevlaska's threshold," she grumbled lowly. With an irritated cluck of her tongue she turned to her assistant and said, "Translate for her what I just said, Oliver."

Oliver looked to Lenalee, his face still and impassive as he remarked, "The Chief wants me to tell you that if you don't perform your duties as an Exorcist when the time comes, I will make life much more difficult for you. You will obey without question or else you'll face my wrath. Now nod your head like you understand."

Lenalee nodded, inwardly lamenting the path fate had been so gracious enough to send her stumbling upon.

This place would never be her home.

* * *

 _London, England_

 _December 13, 1906_

When Lenalee next awoke, she wasn't in the hallway outside the hospital room. She was in someone's bedroom, laying on the bottom bunk of a bunkbed. The floor was flooded with countless stacks of books and newspapers, some stacked so high they nearly touched the ceiling. The clutter made the room feel cramp and smaller than it actually was. There were only two people who could stand living in such conditions.

"I see you're finally awake."

Lenalee sat up and looked to the room's only window, where a dear friend sat on the window seat with his nose buried in a book.

"What time is it?" asked Lenalee.

Lavi looked up from his book, snapping it close with a friendly grin. "Sometime in the morning I should think. I found you passed out outside the hospital wing yesterday. Didn't expect you'd sleep the day away, otherwise I would've brought you back to your room."

She cradled her face and groaned, "You should've woke me . . ."

"I'd heard what happened." Lavi was no longer smiling. "I'm sorry about Erik."

For a blissful second she didn't know what he meant until it all came rushing back to her. The mission, the battle, the blood. So much blood.

Curling in on herself, Lenalee drew up her legs and rested her chin on her knees. "It couldn't be helped," she murmured sullenly.

"He was a good man," Lavi remarked with sympathetic remorse that sounded too rehearsed. "Maybe too good for a place like this."

"Aren't we all?"

He looked to her sadly, his one green eye showing a weariness often hidden behind light hearted jokes and boisterous laughter. "No," he sighed with a faint rueful smile. "Not all of us."

Lenalee rose from the bed, not wanting anymore of this conversation. "I've got to fill out my mission report. Thanks for letting me rest in your room."

"Lenalee, wait!"

He hopped up from his seat, rummaging through his pockets in search of something. He dug around for a moment before pulling out a bracelet of silver links with a nameplate. "I managed to snag this before they cremated his body. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you held onto it."

She eyed the familiar piece of jewelry somberly. Erik's grandmother had bestowed it upon him before he'd left home to join the Black Order. It had been the only thing he had brought with him and he had treasured it dearly. Lenalee would do the same.

"Thank you." She tried her best to muster a smile to show her appreciation for the thoughtful gesture, but it couldn't quite reach her eyes. Stowing the bracelet away in one of her coat pockets, she bid farewell to her red headed friend.

Lavi watched her depart, exhaling slowly through his nose as he returned to his book. He leafed through the pages to where he had left off. With a finger trailing down the rows of sentences he remarked with a distracted absentmindedness, "I've been here too long . . ."

...

After completing the mission report, Lenalee met with the Chief to deliver it.

Chief Komui Lee was found diligently pouring over a set of files with a rare bout of professional attentiveness in his office, periodically taking a sip from his coffee mug. When he realized that it was Lenalee who had come to visit him, he set aside his work to greet her warmly. He rose from the high back leather chair, anticipating the loving embrace they usually shared upon Lenalee's return to headquarters, but she remained obstinately rooted in place in front of his cluttered desk.

With a resigned sigh Komui settled back down. He shouldn't be surprised by her sullen attitude; his sister often retreated inwardly whenever she loss a partner or a comrade-in-arms she was friends with and had stopped seeking him out for comfort as of late. All of it weighed her down and Komui feared the day she would finally break. He didn't think he could pick up all the pieces again.

"Did you have a good rest?" he asked with a patient smile.

She shrugged and glanced away. "More or less." After a pause she added, "I've come to deliver my mission report."

"Oh, good, just put it anywhere on the desk. I'll get to eventually." He gestured vaguely to a spot that didn't seemed quite as swarmed with paperwork and manila folders.

For the briefest moment a smile flitted across Lenalee's lips as she set the paper carefully down on a pile of office expenses. The small glimpse was enough to warm Komui's heart, and for once he was glad his tendency to get easily distracted had brought his sister some measure of amusement rather than the usual headache.

It was enough of a push to get him to ask, "Do you wish to talk about it?"

Lenalee hesitated, looking to the door as the thought of fleeing entered her mind. No, she didn't want to talk about it because there was nothing to talk about. But it was her brother who had asked; she was willing to dig into her fresh wounds in order to try and pry out the sorrow that was buried deep inside.

She took a seat on the sofa, pushing aside the discarded newspaper. It took her a few minutes to gather her thoughts before she began to speak. "It had happened so fast . . . there was nothing I could do to stop it."

"These things often happen that way," Komui remarked with a sad understanding. "We just have to accept that sometimes these things happen and try our best to move on from them."

"But how can I when it's always my fault?" she asked, desperate for an answer. "How do I just forget that Erik and Aaja and Oscar and Jung are all dead because of something I did. It always goes back to me and for the life of me I don't understand why I'm still here."

"Lenalee—"

"Twelve years. I've been an Exorcist for twelve years. Not many people can boast that they've been here for that long. I've watched so many people fall in the line of duty, loss so many friends to this damnable war. How is that I'm still alive? Can this even be called living? I'm . . . I'm so tired . . ."

Though she hadn't outright said it, the implication was clear. The concern washing over her brother's already strained features was enough to make Lenalee look away in shame.

After a momentary lapse of silence riddled with an uncomfortable tension brought about by their conversation, Komui managed to muster back his voice. "There's nothing I can say that will make any of this easier for you. I wish there was. All I can say is that none of their deaths were because of you, that Aaja, Oscar, Jung, and Erik wouldn't want you to blame yourself for what happened. They'd want you to live, just like I do."

Lenalee opened her mouth to respond when a rush of footsteps caught both sibling's attention. In rushed a Finder, out of breath and struggling with his large backpack. "Sir, an accommodator is rumored to be in the city, the very one we've been trying to locate for almost a year."

"The one who's managed to disappear on several occasions?"

"Yes, yes, the very one. Some of the Finders stationed in the city think they spotted him working at a circus."

"Well, that would explain how he's been moving around so quickly . . ." Komui mused thoughtfully. "Lenalee, would you be willing to go have a look for this illusive accommodator? Perhaps you can shed some light onto this rumor." When it looked she was going to refuse he added pointedly, "No one would think twice if an Exorcist were to be seen at a circus if they were out there for an investigation, wouldn't you agree?"

It took her second to decipher his meaning before she nodded, silently relieved. She hoped none of these rumors turned out to be true, that this supposed accommodator that several Finders had spent doggedly searching for him turned out to be nothing.

Because the last thing she wanted to do was bring another person to this never ending nightmare.

* * *

A/N: Thank you **Leone Brion** , **XX-The Barmy Otaku-XX** , and **Midnight Phantasma** for reviewing and all those who favorited/followed!

Kind of surprised I was able to crank this one out so fast while being busy with summer classes and distracted by Pokémon Go. There's parts of this chapter that I feel are weaker than others in terms of writing, but overall I'm happy with how it turned out.

I'll try to have the next chapter out in one or two weeks for now. Tune in for Allen's debut!


	3. Our Paths Cross

A/N: I do not own D. Gray-man.

Ch. 2

 _London, England_

 _December 13, 1906_

The sun was at its zenith and beating mercilessly down on their backs, yet still they worked on, laboring to erect the many tents the circus had for their latest venue as quickly as possible. Any able body man was put to the task, even the few performers willing to put aside their pride worked alongside roustabouts to get the job done. There'd be five of them per stake, each taking a turn with their sledgehammer to pound them down into the ground.

One such young man pulled back with a sigh, hefting the sledgehammer up onto one shoulder and wiping away the sweat from his brow. He was thoroughly drenched from the day's labors and only half of their tents had been risen. Their work was far from over if they wanted to have everything ready and prepared for tonight.

Allen chanced removing his threadbare cap to fan a bit of a breeze onto his face, a part of him wishing he wasn't so self-conscious about his appearance and wasn't afraid of taking off his shirt like most of the other men. As it were, the pairing of a long sleeved shirt and gloves was proving to be stifling, even with the winter chill.

What he wouldn't give for an ice cold bath right about now. Perhaps he'll be able to slip away once all the stakes were hammered in to search for a nearby lake or pond that hadn't yet frozen over. His body always did run a bit warmer than usual.

As if in answer to his desire, a bucket of water was poured down on his head. The sudden shock caused him to yelp in surprise, staggering around to see his longtime friend Oswald grinning back at him with a bucket in his hands.

"You looked a little hot," he remarked in that usual flippant manner of his. "Don't complain, I know you too well, Al."

Mopping back his drenched hair from off his face and placing his cap back on, Allen fought back a smile. "You do realize I have a fairly large, fairly heavy hammer in my hands."

"With those string beans you call arms? I'm surprise you can even lift the thing."

Allen tossed aside the tool in favor of rushing at Oswald. The older lad spun away with his usual cat-like grace, playfully kicking at Allen's backside. He tried swiping at his friend, but he ducked under his arm and got behind him, pulling the shorter boy into a headlock. With a booming laugh Oswald dug his knuckle into Allen's scalp and rubbed vigorously.

"Ah! Enough, enough!" Allen slapped at Oswald's arms. "Come on, Oz!"

Oswald shoved the boy away with a snicker. "You give up too easily my friend."

Allen elbowed him hard in the stomach in response and swept his feet out from under him when he doubled over gasping. While Oswald laid upon the ground wheezing for air, Allen bent to retrieve the sledgehammer he had discarded.

"Maybe next time you should think twice before . . ." He trailed off suddenly as something caught his attention, his expression hardening.

Lounging upon a stack of crates just a dozen feet away with a cigarette at his smirking lips was _him_ , a man that he had last seen back in Northampton a few months ago and Liverpool before that. It wouldn't have been strange if he'd ended up joining the troupe as some roustabout— Le Cirque de la Liberté was never want of turning away extra hands as the company became more and more popular—yet on each occasion he had left them when they'd depart by train.

There was no doubt now, the man was following him. It would be one thing if he was just being paranoid, but another thing entirely if he wasn't who he was: The Red Devil.

It was moniker given to him back in his youth when he'd first been scarred, and made worst by the state of his deformity. Many a clergymen had sought him out to perform some kind of ritual exorcism to rid him of the supposed evil spirit that dwelled within him. Allen had refused each offer with as much politeness he could muster and been hunted because of it. The last time it had happened, he and Oswald had fled an angry mob of pitchfork wielding villagers out for his blood. It would've been comical if it hadn't been so terrifying.

Whoever this man was, hair dye and some makeup wasn't enough to fool him.

Allen turned to his childhood friend as he stood, snagging his collar to draw him closer. "We need to leave," he murmured fervently, his eyes never leaving the man. "He's back."

"Who?" With a quirked brow, Oswald made to look in the direction Allen kept his gaze focused on but was stopped by a second insist tug on his collar.

"The guy I told you about a few months back, the one I thought looked familiar back during our stay in Northampton."

Oswald shoved Allen's hand away with a frown, strolling in a leisurely circle as he thought. Rubbing at the stubble at his chin and occasionally shaking his head, Oswald eventually came to a halt looking conflicted. "We've got it good here, Al. Maybe the bloke is just a fan of the circus and is following the route. It's no secret where and when Liberté is expected to go."

"Oz . . ."

"Let's just give it some time, alright?" snapped Oswald, starting to lose his patience. "If he approaches you and says something strange, then we'll leave. But if he doesn't a speak a word to you, then what does it matter?"

Allen made to argue the point further, but decided against it with a defeated a sigh. It would only lead to a shouting match and this wasn't the place for that. "Fine," he muttered. "Just promise me that you'll keep your word."

"I promise," said Oswald with a simpering bow that only served to make him even more annoyed.

With a frown Allen returned to his work, wishing that Oswald understood his concern or that he wasn't so sentimental towards the older boy. He was old enough to take care of himself and he had no further need of Oswald, at least that's what he told himself. Truth was he couldn't think of a life without his best friend at his side and the thought of leaving without him pained him more than he'd like to admit.

Oswald was all he had of his old life, a living reminder of a life better left forgotten. He was something he could not so easily discard, a brother in all but name. He'd be lost without him and that sense of loyalty would likely prove to be his downfall.

It wasn't like he enjoyed living on the road, constantly shifting from camp to camp and never staying in one place for too long. He'd give anything for some kind of stability, some assurance that he wouldn't be chased out of town for being what he wasn't.

Life here with Cirque de la Liberté was good and he could understand why Oswald was loathed to depart from it. The food was good, the pay decent for such a large troupe, and generally the people were kind and accepting of his strange appearance. And here they could be performers, just as they'd been raised to be, unlike some of their other gigs where their talents had been completely ignored in favor of being brought on as cheap labor.

Oswald was born to have the spotlight on him, he thrived off the applause of the crowd. Here at Liberté there was no shortage of it, not for an acrobat as skilled as him. After spending close to a year with the company, Oswald had become one of their headlining acts.

If they were forced to leave, Allen doubted Oswald would be able to keep his promise.

By the time he was finished with his allotted area he was soaking wet with sweat and one of his mild headaches he'd been getting as of late was brewing up a storm. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, Allen sought out his tent to cool off and change out of his sweaty clothes.

It was a small thing, big enough for only he and Oswald to share with a little bit of space left over to set up a makeshift vanity table. As soon as the canvas flap had closed behind him, he undid the red ribbon wrapped around his collar and began unbuttoning his shirt. He let the articles of clothing fall to the ground as he strode over to the foldable stool at the vanity, taking a seat with a weary sigh.

He should just leave, slip away without a word to Oswald. It would save them both the inevitable argument and Oswald could continue living out his dream while he continued wandering. Always wandering.

"Never stop, always keep walking, eh Mana?" Allen mused aloud as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, cradling his face in a gloved hand. A bitter smile tugged at his lips as he regarded the angry red flesh of his left arm. "What if I grow tired of walking?"

He was sure that his foster father hadn't meant for the mantra to be taken at face value, that it was meant more as an encouragement to continue following your dreams or something of the ilk. Then again, the man's gradual decline in sanity towards the end of his life made him say a lot of absurd things. He'd try to hide it as best as he could, for his sake, but Allen had still been able to see it, especially when he'd be muttering the phrase under his breath with an almost feverish fervor.

There was no point thinking about it now. Whether literal or figurative, Allen had spent the majority of his life on the move and that likely would never change anytime soon.

He peeled away his soiled gloves and pulled the bucket of water closer, splashing at his face. While the remnants of his makeup trickled down his cheek he went about diligently wiping himself down with a soaked cloth that scratched at his skin.

On and on his headache raged, pounding at his skull like someone was trying to drive an icepick through the bone. He did his best to ignore it, keeping his mind blank as he focused on the task rather than let it wander further on thoughts of leaving Oswald behind or where he might go from here.

When he made to remove his cap and undo his hair, something in the mirror brought him pause. He felt his heart lurch in his chest and his breath catch in the split second something had caught the corner of his eye. He could've sworn something had moved across the glass, something that should not have been there while he was all alone. An inexplicable sense of dread filled him as he leaned forward to inspect his reflection, hoping to find some sort of reasonable explanation for what had flashed across the surface. He stared and stared and—

"ALLEN!"

The booming shout sent Allen jumping back with a surprised flinch, his head whipping over to the tent flap to see the manager peering in with the usual discontent frown pulling down his droopy jowls like some old pug that had never once been happy. "I need yah to go into town to hand out these here flyers. Yah think yah can handle that or should I leave yah to admiring your own reflection?"

Ears flushing red with embarrassment, Allen shook his head quickly and wordlessly accepted the stack of flyers that the man had brought with him.

"Do a good job and maybe I'll talk Richard into adding you into the performance."

The prospect brought a smile to his face. "Do you really mean it, Mr. Bennett?"

"Depends on how big of a crowd yah draw in tonight," he said with an indifferent shrug. "Now get to it, yah don't got all day."

With a nod Allen eagerly scrambled for his costume as the squat manager departed, thoughts of what he had seen long forgotten in his rush to get ready. Never once realizing that his headache was gone.

...

The streets were teeming with the London crowd. Couples walked hand-in-hand and parents dragged squalling children along. Peddlers shouted out their goods and newsboys screamed about the paper to everyone who would listened. All of it was lost to the lone Exorcist that travelled amongst them, who was busy with her own thoughts rather than paying any attention to what went on around her.

Lenalee pondered over her brother's words while she walked along the busy London streets, wondering whether or not they could be true.

It wasn't like she didn't want to live; it was just sometimes hard to remember the point. She didn't want to feel like the only way things were ever going to get to better was if she were to end it. She had already tried that once many years ago and it hadn't brought her any sort of relief. But still . . . the thought niggled in the back of her mind, a whispered suggestion that could easily turn into a demanding shout if she were to let it.

Today it would remain as only a faint whisper that she could easily ignore, a passing thought soon forgotten as she continued onward in search of this circus she was meant to visit. If she was remotely religious she'd send out a prayer that the rumors were false and that the evening could be spent enjoying the wonders and sights the travelling circus had to offer. But seeing as how she wasn't, she'd settle with simply hoping that tonight ended as wonderfully ordinary as possible.

The sounds of nearby cheer seemed to banish whatever trace of ill ease that might've remained as she rounded the corner and was met by quite a sizable crowd. Drawn in by her curiosity, Lenalee tried getting a good a view of what was captivating everyone's attention. After a bit of careful shuffling and shouldering on her part, she was able to push her way through to the very front, where a clown was giving a performance.

He was dressed in a baggy costume of red and white fabric that was frilled at the cuffs and bore an absurd collar that was just as frilly. His face was powdered white and painted red so that his eyes were blocked in twin diamonds, his smile comically exaggerated, and his nose marked by a single red dot. Instead of a pointed cap tipped jauntily at an angle, a single striped ball sat perched on his head, leading Lenalee to suspect that he wasn't actually bald but that he was merely wearing some kind of cap that hid his hair.

She watched as he balanced precariously on a ball while he juggled a set of bowling pins. As soon as he had established a perfect rhythm of catching and tossing his three tricolor pins, he began rolling along the perimeter of the crowd surrounding him. Cheers swelled with each new trick he did with his props, it all culminating to a final toss that sent the pins twirling high into the air. While they were airborne, the clown somersaulted off his ball and landed with a flourish just in time to catch the bowling pins.

Lenalee clapped and looked to her left, thinking to see a beaming Erik standing beside her. Instead it was someone she didn't know, because Erik was dead now and somehow she had forgotten that.

He held the pose as the audience rewarded with a round of applause before taking a sweeping bow. "Be sure to check out the mysteries and wonders that Le Cirque de la Liberté has to offer for only one week starting tonight. I hope to see you all there," he said as he rose from his bow. He sounded surprisingly young given his appearance.

The crowd started to thin out as he went about passing out flyers to those who were polite enough to accept. He had just gotten to her when a tomato burst against the side of his face. Childish sniggers filled the air as two more tomatoes sailed through the air and struck the clown against the chest and directly in the face when he had turned his head towards the sound of laughter.

Two boys stood clutching at their stomachs from laughter with a small pile of tomatoes sitting at their feet. As soon as the clown made to approach them in good humor, he was pelted by what remained of their arsenal. Blinded by the fruit's juices, he unwittingly walked into the path of his open suitcase of props and tripped over the luggage. Flyers flew from his hands and scattered to the wind as he face-planted into the concrete.

Laughter swelled from those that had lingered to watch the two boy humiliate the humble performer. The sound suddenly lost its joyous ring to Lenalee's ears when the clown didn't play off the assault with some kind of chuckle or self-deprecating remark, instead struggling to rise up on his hands and knees and slipping on a rolling pin.

When he fell back down to another wave of jeering, Lenalee couldn't stand to watch any longer.

"That's enough!" she scolded as she broke the ranks of the lingering crowd to approach the two boys who had started this mess.

The taller blond of the pair spotted her first, insistently tugging on his friend's sleeve to get his attention. He looked to where he pointed and stiffened in alarm as recognition lit up his brown eyes.

"Let's get out of here, Leo!" he exclaimed. "She works with my dad!"

Before she could reach them, the two had darted away, easily escaping her with the aid of the roller skates they wore to zip along the streets. She let them go, more concerned with making sure the clown was alright than giving chase to a pair of rapscallions.

Turning to the fallen clown, she crouched down at his side and offered him the embroidered handkerchief she found in her uniform pocket. "Are you alright?"

He stared at her with watery eyes tinged pink and mouth slightly gaped. Once he'd realized he'd been staring, he quickly remembered his propriety and accepted the handkerchief with his mouth firmly closed shut. Mopping up most of the pulp that stuck to his face, the clown sat back with a slightly exasperated huff. "Where did they even get that many tomatoes?" he pondered aloud before directing his attention to her. Concern pulled at his brow as he asked, "They didn't get you, did they?"

Lenalee shook her head. "They seemed a little more interested in you than anyone else."

"Those two have been dogging me all day. At first I thought it was because they just really enjoyed my act, but I'm starting to think they were just biding their time." He sighed, surveying the mess that was strewn about the floor. "Well . . . I guess I can call it a day."

"Here, let me help you." She reached for the nearest prop that had spilled out of his suitcase and started collecting the set of rings scattered together.

"Oh no, you really needn't trouble yourself . . ." He tried to insist but she sent him a smile that silenced his feeble protest.

"It's no trouble at all," she assured, slightly amused by the way he looked away in flustered acceptance while he went about gathering his props.

In the time it took them to gather up all his toys and trinkets, the two remained in relative silence. Occasionally she would sneak a quick glance his way only to find him doing the same thing to her. He'd look away first, pretending she hadn't caught him staring while she fought not giggle at his silly attempts of appearing nonchalant.

When the last of the items were stowed safely inside the ragged suitcase, the clown rose to his feet and offered her one gloved hand. "Thank you for your help, truly. You've been nothing but kind." After he had helped her up, he looked to the handkerchief still clutched in his opposite hand and disparaged at the sight of the once cream color now stained pink. "I'm sorry I ruined your handkerchief."

For a split second, the handkerchief she had given him was replaced by one that was stark white and the pink stains had darkened to the blackened red of bad blood. She could've sworn she heard the sound of coughing echo somewhere in the distance, a horrible hacking sound that made her own chest tickle.

" _Let's pretend everything is normal, Lenalee. We can do that, can't we? Just for one day."_

It was gone in a flash, but it left her feeling a bit unsettled nonetheless.

"Hey, are you alright, Miss?"

Lenalee didn't feel alright. In fact, she felt a little light headed and as though her heart might burst through her chest, but she wasn't about to admit that to a complete stranger.

She struggled to give a convincing smile as she took back her handkerchief, pocketing it quickly so that she no longer had to look at it and be reminded of him. "It's fine." It wasn't. "I'm sure it'll wash out." It won't.

He seemed unconvinced, but thankfully didn't press the issue. Not that she would expect him to, given the fact that they weren't familiar with each other. Though his concern was no less touching.

"Take care of yourself." She waved to him in farewell and started walking away before he could say another word. Before he could see just how disturbed she really was.

When the explicable tremor took hold of her hands, she buried them deep in her coat pockets. There Lenalee fiddled with the metal links of Erik's bracelet and stroked the stitching of Jung's name on the now ruined handkerchief.

It should've been with the other mementos she had of all her fallen partners stowed away within her room, yet it had somehow found its way back in her pocket. Or maybe it had always been there.

" _Just for one day . . ."_

She wanted to scream just to drown out his voice. Sometimes little things had an awful tendency of reminding her of the past, triggering memories that she'd rather suppress than have resurface and inducing intrusive thoughts of the event that could not be easily dismissed.

A hand fell on her shoulder and for half a heartbeat she thought it was Jung. But when she peered back to look, it was only the clown looking decidedly apologetic. "I don't mean to pry or anything, really," he insisted as he withdrew his hand. "But . . . would you like to maybe sit or something? You don't look well."

"It's nothing—"

He cut her off before she could protest, sending her a leveled stare that seemed to know of her pain and understand its quiet suffering. "The handkerchief meant something to you, and I ruined it. That's not nothing."

To be fair, it wasn't his fault. It was soiled because a pair of precocious boys decided to harass a street performing clown with tomatoes and Lenalee happened to have Jung's handkerchief in her pocket instead of one of her own. Really, it could only be chopped up to a loose string of coincidences that had brought her to this point.

It would've been easy to dismiss him, to send him away because she wasn't in the mood to unload on someone she didn't know and his concern, while touching, seemed inappropriate given their relationship as strangers. But something was bringing her pause.

Maybe it was because he could've just let her go without saying a word and instead had gone out of his way to inquire about her welfare. Or maybe it was because, on some level, he could see her pain for what it truly was and knew that being left alone tended to exasperate it rather than soothe it. Either way, she was inclined to accept his company.

Lenalee sat down on the curb as per his suggestion, trying not to feel too uncomfortable with the attention the clown inevitably drew by sitting next to her. She was sure it made for a rather comical sight.

An awkward silence stretched between them while they sat there, watching as buggies, carts, and the occasional lone rider travelled along the cobbled road. It didn't take long for it to become unbearable, especially when it allowed her mind to wander upon paths best left untraveled.

"Can we talk?" Lenalee asked, desperate for some kind of engaging distraction.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Anything, it doesn't really matter."

He leaned back, mulling it over for a second. When he finally came up with something, he sent her a sheepish grin. "What's your favorite color?"

She finally looked to him, slightly exasperated. With a hint of laughter in her voice she said, "Of all the things you could've asked me, you chose to ask me about my favorite color? Why not ask me for my name?"

"I didn't think you'd want to tell me." He shrugged, eyes returning to the grey-blue sky. "Sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger than with someone you know, even if it's only by name."

"Your makeup isn't exactly helping things," she pointed out with a slight giggle at his mock offense.

"I'll have you know a lot of hard work went into this!" He informed her with arms crossed and a frown buried beneath a faux smile. But his offense fell away with a sigh as he added, "Though I don't suppose I do myself justice after those two boys felt the need to throw tomatoes at me."

"If it helps, it doesn't look _that_ bad." It didn't, but it didn't look good either. Most of it was smeared; the joyful smile was more of a wobbly smirk now and patches of pale pink skin were starting to peek through the white of the powder. He still looked like a clown, just not a very professional one.

"Oh, I'm sure," he remarked, his words bearing a sarcastic bite to them. "Now, about that favorite color . . .?"

Lenalee snorted, unable to keep from smiling. "I don't have one."

He looked absolutely affronted. "Come now, that can't be true. You must have one, everyone has one. What about black? You seem to be fond of that."

She hated the color black. It was in the shadows that grew in the dimly lit hallways, in the hearts of those who worked at Central. It was the color of catholic priests and marked her as a subsect of the church. It was the color of death.

"No, definitely not that."

He fidgeted in place, looking off at something to their right before returning his gaze back to her. "How 'bout you close your eyes and tell me the first one that comes to mind."

The way he was acting seemed rather odd. "I don't see how this will help determined my favorite color . . ."

"Humor me just this once," he urged with a slight chuckle.

Lenalee stared at him for some time, looking for any sign of deceit. No alarm bells were going off in her head about the clown being any sort of threat, and if he were an akuma, he likely would've attacked her by now. Given that, and the fact that he didn't seem like the type of person to take advantage of her, she decided to comply.

"You got it?"

"Purple . . ."

"Good, good, now just keep your eyes closed for a little longer. And no peeking!"

The urge to do the exact opposite filled her, yet she still did as he said although not without adding a fresh wrinkle to her furrowed brow. She could hear the rustle of his costume and the click of his slippers striking the ground in a quick jog. The sound of passing pedestrians soon made it difficult to distinguish his footsteps from the rest of the city noise and she was left wondering just what exactly he was planning.

When she could no longer stand the anticipation and was about to open her eyes to end this charade, he returned. "Alright, you can open them now."

She did and was greeted by the sight of a flower with purple petals.

"Where did you . . .?"

He pointed to the right where a flower cart was growing farther and farther away as the woman peddling her goods move along the street. "I would've gotten you a few more, but this was all I could afford. Flowers are surprisingly expensive during this time of year."

Lenalee couldn't contain her laughter from bursting forth as she accepted the humble gift. She laughed until it brought tears to her eyes, until it felt like her gut might rip in half. The clown watched her laugh and laugh and laugh with a patient smile, allowing her this moment of near hysterical amusement.

Eventually, her laughter dwindled down to a periodic chuckle. In between gasping wheezes, she remarked, "I don't think I've ever met a clown quite like you. Why is it that you care so much about a stranger?"

"It would be remiss of me if I were to let you go feeling upset. Clowns are meant to make people happy, after all." His face grew somber as he added in a softer murmur, "Sometimes the pain can get to be too much and it's all you can do to keep it from swallowing you whole. I've come to learn that if you can manage to smile and laugh, then things aren't as terrible as they may seem. That it'll pass. However long it takes, it will pass."

This clown was a strange one indeed. "You speaking from experience?"

"Unfortunately." He gave her a sad, little smile.

She stared at him while she twiddled the single flower between her fingers. It suddenly occurred to her that she didn't want to remain as a nameless stranger with this clown. She wanted to know more about him, to know of his sorrows and hopefully learn how to deal with her own.

She slipped the flower through some hair to sit snuggly atop her ear and introduced herself. "My name is Lenalee."

The wistful sorrow in his smile melted away and the silver in his eyes danced with a new twinkle of warmth. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Lenalee. I'm Allen."

* * *

A/N: This chapter was a pain to write! I apologize for the delay.

My goodness, it was like pulling teeth. I ended up rewriting Allen and Lenalee's meeting because I wasn't happy with the premise and how it was shaping up didn't look very good. This is much better.

Next chapter will be happier, I promise!

Thank you **DontMindMe1234** , **Midnight Phantasma** , **Jomaster09** , **Alatum Laminis** , **Leone Brion** , and Guest for reviewing and all those who favorited/followed.


	4. Searching For You

A/N: I do not own D. Gray-man.

Ch. 3

 _London, England_

 _December 13, 1906_

When Allen had learned that Lenalee intended to visit the circus, he had insisted that he take her there before it even opened to the public.

"You're sure this is okay?"

"Oh, sure!" Allen dismissed with an assured nod. "My buddy Oz does this all the time with the girls he's trying to impress."

Lenalee couldn't help playing coy. "Is that what you're trying to do? Impress me?"

She meant it as a little tease, but he reacted far more skittishly than she'd expect. Visibly flustered by the offhand remark, she imagined his face was burning with a bright red flush underneath his makeup as he rubbed at his neck and looked at everything but her. "N-No! I-I-I would never!" he stammered, all tongue tied. "That isn't to say—it's not that—what I mean is—"

"Relax, it was a joke," she chuckled, amused by his overreaction.

"Oh . . ." sighed Allen, coughing uncomfortably. "Ah, yes, of course. Very funny."

By his dry tone, he clearly didn't find it so, looking a bit put out by the light ribbing. He muttered something under his breath that Lenalee couldn't quite make out. When she inquired about it, he played it off with a nervous laugh. "Nothing, just thinking out loud."

She let it go without pressing the matter further, sure he'd never reveal what it was he had said.

To his credit, no one had looked twice when the two had strolled through the sea of half erect striped tents into the camp tucked away in the back. A few even waved as they passed, a gesture that Allen returned with a reserved smile.

"It seems nice here," remarked Lenalee, watching a pair of young boys scurry after a magician, the woman commenting on something that had her two apprentices laughing.

Allen nodded. "Life here at the Cirque de la Liberté tends to be pretty warm and accepting of all those who wish to become a member of the troupe. It takes pride in never turning away anyone who seeks to join."

"Have you been here long?"

"No, not nearly. It'll be a year come March, but compared to most of the people here I'm practically a newbie."

They stopped at one of the smaller tents and Allen sent an apologetic look her way. "Do you mind waiting out here while I change? It shouldn't take long."

She was coming to learn that Allen was polite to a fault and had an almost nauseating habit of putting the concerns of others before his own.

What did he think she was going to say to that? Yes?

"Take your time," she smiled as she stepped away to the side. "I'm in no hurry."

He nodded and slipped into the tent while Lenalee stood watching as the workers went about making preparations for tonight's show and performers refined their routines. There was something almost captivating about the way everyone carried out their duties like a well-oiled machine, never stopping or stuttering. She had only ever been to a circus once before and even it hadn't shown this level of careful discipline. She could only imagine how they handled the chaos of the crowds when things got especially busy.

When a matchstick of a man passed by with an unleashed tiger and bear lumbering behind him, she was reminded of Master.

General Klaud Nine had been an animal tamer back in America before being discovered as an accommodator. The woman never talked much about her past other than she had been looking for a change and the Black Order had offered her one.

Of course, like any Exorcist who made it past five years, the toll of near constant battle was steep and could make even the most optimistic of people cynical. From what General Yeager had told her, Master had been a much happier person before her brush with death. Now she'd be hard-pressed to give a smile, or really show any kind of emotion that wasn't cool indifference while amongst colleagues.

But there were moments, especially when she was alone with her apprentices, where the cold façade would melt away and what remained of her old self showed through.

She had smiled at Lenalee the day that they had met, when she had been presented before the five generals as the newest recruit.

* * *

 _London, England_

 _November 26, 1894_

The first thing Lenalee had noticed was the five figures sitting upon ornate chairs that seemed rather like gilded thrones fit for royalty rather than the eclectic group of stone-faced individuals. And there was a monkey, which seemed sorely out of place amidst the austere architecture.

They were arranged in a circle in the middle of the room and she had been forced to stand in the very center for all of them to see. On either side were rows of seats set at a gradual incline so that each row sat higher than one before it, stopping only shy of the gallery floor that wrapped around the walls. The large stained glass window was the only thing giving off light, but to its credit it provided enough illumination for Lenalee to make out some of the strangers' faces.

The second thing was that Oliver's hand lingered a bit too long on her shoulder, squeezing so tight that it was starting to hurt.

"Many thanks for taking the time out of your busy schedules to gather here today to meet our newest recruit."

Three of them gave an acknowledging nod while the other two appeared even more disinterested. The monkey chattered and Lenalee stared. She was more interested in it than whatever Oliver or the Generals had to say. If it was important, the man would translate.

Her curiosity seemed to catch the interest of the monkey's owner, the woman's attention moving away from Oliver and onto her. There was an almost somber detachment in the way she regarded her, with eyes that were both cold and warm. Her posture had not changed, nor had her expression, but there was something about that leveled stare that was distinctly sympathetic. As if she understood her plight without ever having been expressly told of it, but had forgotten how to show it long ago.

In any case, the unabashed scrutiny she was receiving from the lone woman in the room left Lenalee feeling a tad overwhelmed. She wished she was back in her room, even if it's plain walls and drab furnishings often left her restless with boredom. At least it was better than here, where people spoke in words she couldn't understand and everything was simultaneously too bright and too dark.

Oliver's hand returned to her shoulder to administer a discreet pinch with the tightening of his grip. It was becoming his patent way of showing his displeasure with her whenever in the company of others. For a man who reviled her own touch, he certainly didn't seem to mind touching her.

She must've annoyed him for gawking at the monkey rather than at least pretending to listen to their gibberish like the demure little girl she was expected to be. Even when she lowered her stare to the floor to stare blankly at the mosaic tiles, his hand remained on her shoulder as the heavy warning of a potential threat. Upset him again and he would do worse than a simple pinch as soon as they were alone.

The conversation continued until the man in the mask lifted his head from where it had previously rested on his thick knuckles and gave a roar of laughter. Something Oliver had said must've amused the man, for he leaned forward imperiously and spoke with a voice dripping with venomous ridicule. The way he gestured towards her with one beefy hand made it clear that he was talking about her.

Annoyed by some refusal, Oliver pushed her towards the man and said to her, "This is your new master, General Winters. You're to do everything he says. Do you understand?"

Lenalee nodded and took one step towards the imposing man. Her approach had him perking up in his seat and screaming something angrily at her. She stopped immediately, wanting to look back at Oliver for some kind direction on how she should handle this but too afraid to meet the inevitable glare that was meant to convey that this was somehow her fault.

Not knowing what else to do, and that Oliver would be very upset with her if she just stood there, she did what was expected of her and continued forward despite General Winters's belligerent yelling. The man stood up from his chair, the thick cords of muscle in his arms and chest tensing up as an almost wild panic filled his pale grey eyes.

She had never seen a person look so terrified while simultaneously being so enraged that she had the distinct urge to flee before he could lash out her like the cornered animal he was acting like. But the crack of a whip splitting the air with a distinct pop had them all pausing in place, the soft clicking of heels on tile announcing the approach of the woman general as she descended from her throne.

With a confidence that Lenalee surely didn't possess, the woman walked up to General Winters and gently prodded him back down into his chair. A few whispered words were shared between them that seemed to put the hulking man at ease before she turned to face Oliver and said something that had him tight lipped with displeasure. He nodded reluctantly to whatever she had said and left without a backward glance.

Confused by what had transpired in a matter of seconds, Lenalee flinched back a step when she finally looked back to see the woman kneeling before her with the ghost of a smile on her lips. While the other four men got up to depart, sharing a few words amongst themselves, the woman remained crouched in front of her looking like she wanted to say something but knew that whatever was said would be lost to Lenalee.

Instead she settled with stroking her hair and carding her fingers through one of her pigtails, her smile becoming a bit more pronounced with each passing second. Up close, with her full lips, straight nose, and round eyes, she was undeniably the most beautiful woman Lenalee had ever seen.

But it was a sort of sad, tragic beauty, like that of an exotic animal that had been captured and caged. Though it still may look the same, the spark, that fire that had made it so very much alive had been extinguished and all that remained was a hollow shell of something that had once lived.

Was this to be her future? Was she destined to become just like this woman, trapped and having long since accepted that as fact? Too tired to fight and not strong enough to resist?

Panic and terror filled at the thought. Where was Komui when she needed him most? _Where was her brother?_

The tears came spilling over her cheeks before she could stop them. This was suddenly too real and any chance of going back home to her brother had slipped away—if it had ever really been there in the first place—now a far-off dream than any real hope. Whether she liked it or not, she was expected to follow this woman's direction, to learn what it meant to be an Exorcist. Learn what it meant to live but be dead inside. To be dead yet somehow still alive.

She was sobbing so hard that each breath felt like something she had to earn, a struggle that she'd win by the skin of her teeth only to be thrown back into the ring for another round. It was like a dam had been released and there was no hope of ever stopping it.

A pair of arms wrapped around her shivering frame and drew her close. Swathed in the warmth of an embrace and head pillowed on the woman's bosom, Lenalee hardly noticed when she was lifted off her feet and cradled like the infant she hadn't been in years. When she could calm herself down enough for her sobs to sound more like shuddering gasps than pitiful wails, she could hear the woman hum a low lullaby while she swayed back in forth.

Startled by this unexpected display of maternal care, Lenalee gaped up at the woman that was to be her master. The humming ended abruptly when she'd noticed Lenalee watching her with too wide eyes. That sad, beautiful smile returned to her face as she spoke the only bit of Chinese she knew. "I'm sorry."

It was strange. No one had ever thought to apologize to her for the circumstances that had brought her here, nor initiate any sort of human contact that wasn't either distant or harsh. No one had ever shown her such kindness. Or pity.

Regardless of whether it was kindness or pity that drove this woman to hold her close, Lenalee clung to that bit of humanity with all the desperation of a drowning man, curling against the woman's chest and pressing her face into the black and gold fabric to hide her never ending tears. The soft tune was picked back up again and the slow rocking resumed as she moved to her chair to have a seat.

She never complained, never hinted to any sort of annoyance or discomfort in the long hours that followed. All she did was sit there with Lenalee secure in her arms, humming that same song endlessly.

Lulled by the low sound, Lenalee couldn't fight the exhaustion that hit her hard once the tears had begun to subside and allowed sleep to take her away. It was easy to pretend that she was back in her mother's arms, that her parents were alive and that they were all back home in their remote village where nothing bad could ever happen to them. That she was safe and loved and happy, oh so happy.

What a complete joke.

* * *

The sudden weight of an arm slinking across her shoulders snapped her out of the memory. Tilting her head to the left, she was greeted with the sight of a lithe young man with dancing brown eyes smirking down at her with a cocksure grin. It reminded her a bit of Lavi, when he was really trying to sell his character to people.

"Hey," he purred. "I don't think we've had the pleasure. The name's Oswald, but you can call me Oz. And you are?"

Lenalee stared, recalling that Allen had mentioned a friend named Oz. One who made it a habit of flaunting an untold number of women around the circus grounds apparently.

She shrugged off his arm, unimpressed with his advances.

If she wasn't an Exorcist, if her life wasn't constantly swept up in peril and death, if she didn't care as much, it would've been easy to let herself be swept away by the guile in his stare and the confidence that was just as bright as his pearly white teeth. She had met plenty of men with the same charm, the same swagger that could make any woman feel special. All of them had wanted a bit of attention she was unwilling to give.

Relationships with outsiders wasn't strictly discouraged, but it was frowned upon. Central would rather Exorcists copulate with other Exorcists, in the off chance that a pregnancy might produce another accommodator ripe for the picking. Such a thing was rare, but that didn't stop the higher ups from seizing every infant born under the Black Order's roof and offering them to Hevlaska as sacrificial lambs.

She knew of Exorcists who preferred short lived flings with people met on far away missions and while she understood the appeal—her first time had been with some guy not unlike Oz in China when she was sixteen—the novelty of it was short lived. Taking advantage of the transitory nature of their line of work wasn't something she was particularly interested in. She wanted something more but was too afraid of the risk that it entailed.

Her prolonged silence coupled with his dwindling patience managed to put a dent to his charm and his once inviting grin transformed to an irritated grimace.

"Are you some stupid chink that can't understand a word I'm saying?"

Whatever shred of interest she may have had of getting to know Allen's friend flew away with the insult. She opened her mouth to curse him out but was interrupted by the appearance of Allen emerging from the tent with a disapproving frown.

"Oh wow, that sure is attractive," Allen snapped, shoving Oz back so that he wasn't hovering so close to Lenalee. "I'm sure all the girls just love it when you show them a bit of racism."

Oz held up his hands in hopes of placating his irate friend. "Relax, what's your problem?"

"My problem is you and your incessant need to flirt with every woman you see and then get upset when she doesn't pay you any mind."

Oz's eyes darted between the two of them before a slow grin pulled at his lips. "I see how it is . . ." he drawled, slinging an arm over the shorter boy's shoulder and drawing him close with a boisterous laugh. "You've finally found someone that you've taken a fancy to! About time you started showing an interest in women. I was starting to think you might be a bit on the queer side. Well, I won't stand in your way pal! Just let me know if I need to find a place to spend the night, wouldn't want to step on your toes when you make the moves."

Allen squirmed free with ears flushed red and cheeks bearing a distinct pink tint that was darkening by the second. "It's not like that!" he snapped angrily. "And quit being an ass, she can understand every word your saying."

While Allen stood fuming in embarrassed irritation, Lenalee managed to remain composed for the two of them.

"He's right," she bit out, thankful for the perfect diction and lack of the residual accent from her younger days. She wasn't sure which she was madder at: his casual disregard or his apparent lewdness. Perhaps it was a bit of both. "So quit pretending I'm not here, _pal_."

At least he had the decency to appear ashamed, fidgeting uncomfortable in place. "Not one of my finer moments, I must admit." He recovered quickly however, sweeping into an extravagant bow and taking ahold her hand to plant a kiss on her knuckles. "Please accept my humblest apologies."

Lenalee yanked her hand away in disgust, fed up with his attempt of recovering some modicum of charm. She wasn't about to forgive him for the offhand remark nor pretend that she was okay with his behavior. Frankly she was starting to question Allen's character if this was the type of people he associated with.

"We're leaving," Allen grumbled, shouldering past Oz with long, stiff strides. "Let's go, Lenalee."

She followed him all too gladly, more interested in starting her investigation for this supposed accommodator than spending another second with Oz the Flirt.

Once they were well away, Allen slowed his quick pace and let his shoulders sag as he cradled his face in shame. "I'm so sorry about that," he apologized. "He usually isn't like this, really."

"Why are you friends with someone like him?" she asked, making her distain clearly known.

Allen shrunk away like a wounded animal, hunching forward even further. "It's . . . it's complicated. I've known Oz since we were both children and no matter how much he might irritate me, I can't seem to let him go, you know? He's like an annoying brother, the kind that you can both love and hate."

She knew the feeling. Komui tended to grate on her nerves from time to time, and was often oblivious to the fact. His idea of the doting older brother, while appreciated, often came across as a bit too strong. She supposed that couldn't be helped, given the four years they'd spent apart. And the one year that neither of them liked to mention.

For all his faults and shortcomings, she cared about Komui and it seemed that Allen felt the same for his childhood friend. She couldn't really blame him for that.

"I know what you mean," she remarked in hopes of easing some of his misplaced guilt. "Just when you think you can't possibly stand the person, they go and do something that reminds you why it is they were important to you in the first place."

He regarded her with renewed appreciation and Lenalee was struck by how boyishly handsome he was. She hadn't been able to glean much about his appearance beneath the costume and makeup—and really hadn't thought to notice until now—but now that it had been replaced by plain trousers, white button up, and ratty cap, he seemed substantially younger.

Lean in frame and round in face, he kept most of his reddish-brown hair tied back while letting his bangs fall into his eyes. Those eyes . . . they were the only thing that had stayed the same and they shimmered with an array of silver greys and hints of pale lilac. She had never seen eyes so captivatingly beautiful before.

Lenalee broke eye contact first when she realized she'd been staring a bit too long, adding hastily after clearing her throat, "Shall we continue?"

Allen nodded and with the sweep of his arm he gestured for her to lead the way. "Are you from around here?" he asked in hopes of striking up a conversation.

She laughed at his silly question. "What gave it away? My American accent or my Asian face."

"Hey now," he chuckled along with her as a slight grin nervously tugged up one corner of his mouth. "I didn't want to be rude by assuming. If you aren't from here, then what brings you to London?"

"Work," she murmured evasively. "Though I do live here, actually. Have been for most of my life." It was a sad fact, one made worse by her inability to remember much of her village or what her parents even looked like.

"What do you do?"

It was natural follow up question, one she should've expected, yet it still caught her off guard. How do you explain to someone that you fight demons in the name of God for a living and were expected to lay down your life for this noble cause without looking insane? It'd be so much easier if she worked at a café or something.

"I . . . I travel and find things." Lenalee settled with, hoping the answer was satisfying enough that he didn't question the ambiguity of it.

But Allen was proving to be a very curious fellow. "Like what?"

"Artifacts mostly, sometimes people. It depends on what is needed of me on any given day. I go and search for whatever they want wherever they send me. I've travelled all over the world because of it."

"Sounds nice," he replied. "But doesn't all that travel get old after a while? Don't you ever miss being home?"

"Not particularly," she admitted with an indifferent shrug. It was one of the few things that gave her a sense of joy and freedom. As much as she loathed being an Exorcist and all the baggage that came with it, she couldn't knock it for giving her this opportunity to see the world that she never would've had back at her small village in the heart of China. And any excuse to be away from the Black Order, especially when Central decided to pay a visit, was always a good one.

"What I wouldn't give to have a place to go back to every once in a while."

When she stared at him after his wistful remark, he explained in further detail, "As far back as I can remember, I've spent my life on the road. Sure, it's nice and all, you meet some fascinating people and visit some wonderful places along the way, but at the end of day it can be quite exhausting. Time passes, people change, places become different, and your often left without really knowing why. I don't know . . . I guess it would be nice to have some kind of constant that's always there."

"Seems like you're burnt out on circus life."

He rubbed the back of his neck as he gave a small chuckle. "Maybe just a little bit," he confessed.

"If you're so anxious for something more permanent, then what's stopping you from leaving?"

Her innocent query had him fidgeting anxiously and he started rubbing his left wrist in some nervous tick. "I don't really have anywhere else to go or a reason yet to leave. And if I were to leave, well, it's not like I have many options other than to join another troupe."

She wished she had some kind of offer for him, because for all its faults the Black Order was at least a stable environment. But it was also the _Black Order_ , a place where people cut all ties from family and any prior allegiance and were expected to forfeit their lives for the sake of humanity. She couldn't feed him false promises of heroics and adventure as a Finder. He'd only resent her for it if the job didn't kill him first.

"I hope you find whatever it is you are looking for."

"Thanks," he grinned. "Though I doubt anything will ever come of it. At the end of the day, I'll always be a clown at heart."

"Speaking of which," she began as she made a show of looking him up and down. "Why aren't you in costume?"

"I'm too new and there isn't exactly a shortage of performers," he admitted with a helpless shrug. "The company's manager promised there'd be a spot for me during one of the shows, but I wouldn't hold my breath. Seems all I'm good for is hitting the streets getting tomatoes thrown at my face."

"But you do it so well," she remarked with an overly cheery tone, earning a laugh.

"And what a show it was! Alas, it pains me to say that I'm officially retiring from the whole tomato-in-the-face gig and moving on to the much more exciting world of confectionery goods," he replied with faux lament coloring his tone. "Though I'm not opposed to comeback performances sometime in the near future should my stint with pies prove to be disadvantageous."

"Such a shame. Should such a thing happen, rest assured that I shall be there to save the day."

"Will you now?" With an arched brow and teasing grin, Allen waited for her rebuttal.

He was enjoying this, she could see. But then again, so was she.

"If I don't, then who else will?"

"My regular ole knight in shining armor. Or perhaps my fair maiden in black would be a better descriptor."

"Just hero would suffice."

"My hero, then," he said with a slight snicker and the amused shake of his head.

Lenalee smiled and Allen smiled back, warm fondness softening his gaze. It was a pleasant enough sight, seeing the carefully schooled interest and scripted politeness give way to something that seemed more genuine, something a bit more real.

She likely wouldn't have noticed the subtly of it if he hadn't immediately clammed up and reverted back to the nervous bumbling of someone who was embarrassed by something they'd never admit. He broke eye contact first, smile dimming to an indulgent quirk of his lips while he took a step away to further the distance between them. It was like he was reminded of some arbitrary rule that dictated that there'd be a sizable gap between them so that nobody could mistake them for being anything other than growing acquaintances. Or just strangers, really.

Not that she would go out of her way of calling someone she hardly knew a friend, but the sudden aversion threw her off nonetheless.

The moment that was shared between them had long since passed and it was suddenly more awkward than it needed to be, especially when neither of them chose to bring it up. Conversation had stagnated to an uncomfortable halt and she wasn't quite sure how to get back that easy flow that introductory questions allowed.

Should she ask him a question of her own? Up until now, he'd been the one getting to know her and though he'd relinquished some details about himself, she still didn't really _know_ anything about him.

Before she could begin to think up one, one of the troupe's roustabouts spotted them meandering amongst the rows of tents and called for Allen to assist him with some task. A flash of disappointment fleeted across his features as he acknowledged the request with a nod and a wave.

"I've got to go. The shows don't start until sunset, but you can wait in my tent if you want. Or keep wandering around, so long as you don't cause any sort of trouble."

"It's really okay if I just keep walking through your camp?" asked Lenalee. She didn't want to cause any unnecessary trouble for Allen or herself because of some investigation she was obligated to pursue. "No one's going to stop me if they see me back here?"

"I doubt it, but if they do, just mention me. So long as you aren't acting suspicious, no one should trouble you. And if you're ever harassed or anything of the sort, come find me."

"Don't worry, I can take care of myself just fine," she assured.

He looked like he wanted to continue to fret over things that could happen but let the words remain unsaid and instead gave her an astute nod. "I suppose you're right. Well then, I'll see you later?"

The tentative question that hung at the end of the sentence confused her. It seemed like the most obvious thing in the world, that they would meet up again once he was free, but perhaps he merely didn't want to presume. She had to wonder what it was that made Allen so cautious, so careful to make sure that things were plainly stated rather than be left up to a faulty assumption.

Maybe this transient life he lived left little room for uncertainty. Or maybe he was just being polite. Either were possible given what little she knew of him.

"Yeah, see you later." She gave a small wave and watched him depart with an even smaller smile that slipped away as soon as he was out of sight. With him no longer there to distract her, she was obligated to search for this illusive accommodator. Or at least say that she'd tried without it being a total lie.

It wouldn't be too hard. Here she was, walking, looking—it wasn't her fault if nothing out of the ordinary didn't cross her path. And really, it was only a rumor.

Such justifications would hardly please the Inspector had he been privy of her assignment. She'd be punished for her lack of effort into validating claims of a potential accommodator in the area. Nothing too harsh, nothing to keep her out of the field for more than a week because as they were, there wasn't enough Exorcists to safeguard the main branch, let alone the other five.

No rumor was too small or too outlandish to warrant some form of investigation. In times such as these, even Exorcists were put to such tasks that best befitted Finders.

Lenalee turned on her heel and made to begin her so called investigation when she bumped shoulders with a man who was passing by.

"I'm sorry," Lenalee apologized reflexively.

"Quite alright," he replied around the cigarette he had at the corner of his mouth. "Just try to be bit more careful with your surroundings next time."

She nodded and continued on her way, unaware that she was still being watched by the man with the cigarette.

The slight grin he kept on for appearances soured into a grimace as soon as she was out of sight, the burn of his ire hidden behind the foggy lenses of the glasses he wore.

"Damn," he muttered. "This is going to make things much harder."

* * *

A/N: So, so sorry for the delay. Like, I feel really bad because honestly, nearly all of this chapter was written months ago. I wanted to add more because nothing really happens but I had already had over 5000 words so I decided to wrap it up instead. This has just been sitting on my computer for forever and only now did I decide to finish it. I promise that won't happen again.

Thank you Vangran, DontMindMe1234, Leone Brion, Guest, Maerynkawaii, Anon3412, Sim, Manu259, EmeraldNorth, and ghost account 11111 for reviewing and all those who favorited/followed!


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